Silicon Investor (SI) -- The First Internet Community

STOCKTALK

We've detected that you're using an ad content blocking browser plug-in or feature. Ads provide a critical source of revenue to the continued operation of Silicon Investor. We ask that you disable ad blocking while on Silicon Investor in the best interests of our community. If you are not using an ad blocker but are still receiving this message, make sure your browser's tracking protection is set to the 'standard' level.

Politics : Sioux Nation -- Ignore unavailable to you. Want to Upgrade?

To: Wharf Rat who wrote (325898)	4/25/2020 12:47:15 PM
From: Ron	Respond to of 362150

I'm Ridin' with Biden... reason 3,462....

To: Wharf Rat who wrote (325898)	4/25/2020 1:20:34 PM
From: Arthur Radley	2 Recommendations Recommended By Ron Wharf Rat Read Replies (1) \| Respond to of 362150

Wharf, This is my rat story dedicated to you--- Rock the Terrible Cat Chaser Every kid should have a dog growing up. And they should wish they had a dog like my best four-legged friend, Rock. But that would be impossible because there could never be another Rock. Rock was not a large dog. He probably weighed less than 15 pounds even if he had been weighed with a few rocks in his mouth. His small size is hard to explain when one considers that he must have had a heart that weighed 100 pounds. It sure contained a lot of love and devotion to me! Rock was the ultimate friend. Robert was my best childhood buddy, but in fact, Rock was his equal. Rock made both our lives richer just by having him around. For example, when we played our football games on the grassy plot of ground in the front yard area. Robert and I could not afford many toys to occupy our time, so we had to make do with things we found on the farm. Therefore, an empty oil can had become our “special football” where it had been drained by pouring the oil into our Farmall tractor. However, our special football had one major problem. There was always a gaping and jagged hole where the oil spout had been inserted. Rock never developed a knack for picking up our “football” and running with it. But drop that oil can on the ground and Rock would be on it in a flash, pushing it along with his nose in the direction of the goal line that was the edge of the cotton field surrounding our stadium. Maybe he was meant to play nose-soccer! I will never forget the day that Rock pounced on the can and was in full flight to nudge it across the goal line when his nose got stuck in the gaping hole. Rock survived the event, but his nose was never the same. But it did not keep him from being ready when the next game started. He was always ready! Rock was also a great companion to take on our treks to the local woods. One never had to fear encounters with such creatures as bears, mountain lions, tigers, elephants or any of the other varmints that Robert and I thought might be lurking there in the south Alabama woods. For sure, they were hiding there in the dense forest, but with Rock along they never dared to show themselves. My dog Rock was afraid of nothing. But that is not to say he did not have a soft side to his macho swagger. Momma had an ol’ cat she kept around the farmhouse. That cat’s sole purpose in life was to keep the rat colony down to a few hundred that infested our corncrib. Every farm had to have a cow for a daily source of milk and butter. Cows loved corn, and the corn was stored in the corncrib. The corn attracted the rats! Rock usually pretended to have no use for the worthless cat. He would be taking a nap under the pecan tree and if he awoke and saw her, he would leap up and immediately take after her—chasing her up the pecan tree. If she could not make it to the tree, she would head for the open door to the wash house where Momma kept her Maytag washer and ringer. Oh, was Momma proud of that machine. There was a ledge inside the wash house that offered a safe spot for the cat whenever Rock had nothing better too do than make her life miserable. But as much as he pestered the cat, I always suspected he was not really running full speed so he could catch her. Something told me that ol’ Rock had a soft spot in his heart for her. I had seen how fast Rock could run in our football games, but in chasing the cat he seemed not having the same gusto and burst of speed. He had run only fast enough to keep her attention! What final tipped me off was one frosty morning when Momma said, “Come look. You won’t believe this.” Rock was an outside dog. He always slept at the foot of the backdoor steps, where we never worried about needing to lock the door at night. No varmint of the humankind would ever try breaking into our humble little house. Not with Rock waiting for them! That morning it was extremely cold. Momma led me out to the back porch and pointed to where Rock always slept, curled up, especially on mornings like this where the frost had painted the ground. This time as I looked down, I saw that ol’ cat curled up inside the full embrace of Rock the Terrible Cat Chaser. The two of them snuggled together like two peas in a pod. As Momma and I started laughing at the sight, Rock woke up and merely stared at us. Then he looked down at the cat lying there between his outstretched legs. Then he looked back at Momma and me. We started laughing even harder and louder as the strangest expression crossed Rock’s face. He knew he had been caught— “red pawed” you might say. He knew he had to do something to save face. So Rock jumped up and starting scolding the cat with loud barks as if to day – “How dare you tricked me while I was sleeping!” The cat woke up, lazily stretched her legs, and merely stared at Rock with her sleepy eyes. Then, amidst the ruckus, it began to dawn on her that the goods were up. It was time to make a hasty retreat from her snuggle buddy! She jumped up, gave one final furtive glance at Rock, and barreled headlong toward the wash house –with Rock in hot pursuit. It appeared that Rock was running a little faster that morning. I guess it was for appearance only! He made sure the cat reached the wash house ledge safely. Rock was to have the pleasure of chasing that cat up the pecan tree and into the wash house many more days after that morning. But never again would I be alarmed that he meant her harm. Not after seeing the two of them sleeping so peacefully together curled up against the chill of a winter morning in Alabama. “The dog was created for children. He is the god of frolic.”—Henry Ward Beecher